My Dear
by westpoints
Summary: [complete]'The Margaret Mitchell one, with Vivian Leigh.' Derek finds out. About 'Maddison' that is. Slightly AU. Literature Arc.


My longest one-chapter fic yet...yeah! Back from my meet with a new fic to boot.

I didn't like the way the writers had Addison and Derek confront each other, so I rewrote it kinda-sorta-notreally. I just felt like this was something I needed to write.

If you want the whole "Addison loves the classics/fairytales" arc, then you might want to read "Fairytale." You don't have to, but it'll be a theme in most of my Addison-based pieces.

Oh, and I'm still waiting for "Maddison" to be the official Mark + Addison word.

Disclaimer:

Me: So...I'm gonna watch your network.

ABC: Okay.

Me: And I'm gonna TiVo the shows I don't have time to watch.

ABC: Okay.

Me: And I'm gonna buy most of your soundtracks.

ABC: Okay.

Me: And I'm gonna steal Grey's Anatomy and call it my own.

ABC: No.

Me: DAMMIT.

So, no. I don't own it.

* * *

There was yelling. Then there was screaming (which is a lot like yelling, only with more X chromosomes). Then there was more yelling. And maybe some crying. 

She was pretty sure she was the one who was crying.

She was stupid. Stupid, stupid , stupid. Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid, _stupid_.

She thought—she actually thought—that she could have both. That she could love both men, and that they would accept it. Polyandry at its American best. That maybe, maybe she could have this whole classic romance and happily ever after deal.

Well, at least the classic romance. The Margaret Mitchell one, with Vivian Leigh.

Milton Bradley ruined the happily ever after part.

"_Hello, Mark. I didn't know you were coming over. I would have gotten out the Twister mat."_

And _then_ there was the yelling and the screaming and the flying of tiny bits of saliva.

"My best—my best friend. And my wife. I cannot believe this. I just—This is unbelievable. This is just not happening. I'm going to walk out that door, and when I come back in, I will see my wife, Addison, hanging up her coat, and trying to make lunch. Because I did not just see Mark Sloan, my best friend, leave this house after I, Derek Shepherd, caught him screwing my wife."

"Derek—"

"No. You are not allowed to 'Derek' me. I'm going to tell you the truth, right now. I thought that when we got married, I would be the first one to cheat. I would be the one with no self-control, and I would ruin the whole thing. But no. Not only am I betrayed by my wife, my _best friend_ helped her along with it."

"Derek—"

"Why'd you do it? Why, Addison, _why_? Why, out of all the men in the _world_, did you choose—"

"Because he was there! Because you weren't anywhere, and he was there, that's why. Okay? That's why. Because I couldn't stand one more day of waiting for you to work at this marriage."

"Oh, work at this marriage? Apparently, you gave up already, seeing as how you leapt into Mark's bed the second you realized that we weren't getting along."

"Weren't getting along—Derek, we didn't even talk to each other! I saw you for a grand total of two hours in the past week! And that was at the hospital! And I tried, God knows I tried so hard to get us sometime alone, and you never made time, you were always in the on-call room, or in the OR, or filing some paperwork, you _never had time_."

He stuffed his hands in his jeans pockets and started to pace.

"Time? Time. Addison. We're _doctors_. Time is the one thing we can't fix." She opened her mouth to speak. "You know what? Next week. Next week is your half birthday, and I...I was going to take you out to lunch on top of the Empire State Building. I was going to make sandwiches, because God knows you can't, and we were going to brown bag it and then drop pennies and hope that we wouldn't get called in for guys with slits in their foreheads." He exhaled. "Jesus, Addison."

"Derek—"

"I can't do this. I can't...look at you, look at the woman that I loved without _pause_ until an hour ago, who doesn't care enough to love me back, I can't stay in this city, knowing that you, _you_, Addison, you betrayed me." He began pulling clothes out of his dresser. "I'm going to Seattle. Webber's there, he's offered me a job."

"Derek—" He rounded on her, a maniacal smile quirking at his lips.

"Don't. Say. 'Derek.' Don't say it, don't even think it. Okay?" He didn't even bother refolding his clothing. He stuffed it in a duffel bag and grabbed his jacket off the bed. She hated wrinkled clothes and he knew it.

"But—" She stopped as he swung the bag on his shoulder. "But I love you."

She did, she really, really did, because no one, not even Mark, no one, could really give her that classic ending she so desperately wanted. She hated herself, _loathed _her mind for thinking that all Derek meant to her was the ending. Because he meant more, had to mean more, but he didn't, not after this, not after the affair. She couldn't understand why. And he turned to her, the smile frozen for a second on his face before his mouth turned downwards.

He was going to say it. He had to say it, because she couldn't imagine it any other way.

He drew a breath, and said lightly but softly:

"My dear..."

And even as she held her breath, even as she waited for him to _say the damn words_, he stopped. And then he opened his mouth again.

"My dear, I don't. I don't give...Goodbye, Addison."

* * *

Oh come on, don't _tell_ me you don't know what I'm talkin' about.

Hrm. Please review.


End file.
